And so, having made a hundred promises, and with a vague sense of unease, Rudi embarked on his last summer holiday as a bachelor. The day of his departure, he had a manservant deliver an emphatic love letter to Sophie, in which he swore he would write to her daily and would return at the very latest at the start of the shooting season. She replied to him immediately with a briefer letter, which she addressed to the spa, so that Rudi would read it on his arrival at Baden. But before that she scrawled a few lines on her violet notepaper.
My love, my mischievous loveâthe faster time passes, the more I seem to leave my mark on things, as though the depth of my footprint depended on the speed at which I am going. Even as my actions excite and scare me, I feel indifferent to their consequences. Is it possible to experience all those things at once? Yes, as more than one person. The Sophie who has just said goodbye to Rudi feels relieved, and yet she pities him, too, and feels sorry in spite of herself. That Sophie is walking a tightrope so as to give the appearance at home that everything is normal when in fact it is most irregular, so as not to rouse Father's suspicions about something that is deeply suspect. Yet the Sophie who writes to you is like a swirling current running hot and cold. When she needs to lie or to dissemble, she possesses a self-assurance that scares me, and that somehow I admire, because I never thought her capable of it. And yet as soon as she sees you or thinks about seeing you, the current boils over, it rages with a strange urgency. Then nothing else matters, all obligations, all suffering can wait until tomorrow; anything to avoid the unbearable torment of not seeing you now. And from where I am now the future seems like a useless, beautiful mountain. I am down in the valley, lying naked in the shadows, talking to you.
E non abbiamo più
.
At least until September, while everyone is away on holiday, it will be easier for us to meet. It is simply a question of keeping up appearances outside your room, which is our world. I want to enjoy these days, which of course entails taking a certain amount of risk. Calling on my father's acquaintances is beginning to grate on my nerves. It is exhausting having to weigh every word, every opinion. It is exasperating having to dress up. It is hateful that the library is closed. My friends bore me to tears. When we aren't discussing eligible young men, we talk about dresses, and vice versa. But discussing Dante with them would be worse! Did I tell you how much I love you? Well, just in case.
I shall see you tomorrow. What a long wait! I found a book of Calderón's poems in the house, I thought it could be of some use. By the way, when are you going to show me your famous organ grinder's cave?
The most multilingual, melodious kiss from your
S
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⦠and a tendency to leave your mark on things, you say. I know that feelingâlike stepping back into the impression left by a pleasurable experience. But there is also the other side of the coin. We leave our mark on things, and things leave their mark on us. These past days, Sophie, I know very well, that wherever we may be, they have left their mark on us and there is nothing we can do to change that. I don't know xxxxxx how long it will all last either, and for now I don't care. Today it is thus, we both agree, and with you it is always today.
Even so, my darling, will you allow me to say, until tomorrow?
All my love
H
At the windows dawn broke insistently and night fell gently. The light expanded, blistering. One by one, without anyone realising they had gone, the city authorities abandoned Wandernburg. Mayor Ratztrinker took his family to the landscaped country estate he had just purchased from Herr Gelding. One Friday, around mid-morning, the councillors abandoned the town hall. And, in what one of the journalists at the
Thunderer
would later refer to as a “scandalous” coincidence, on that same day, six underage girls suddenly ran away from home.
For Lieutenants Gluck and Gluck, however, there was no repose. They discussed the different possibilities, made renewed searches of the alleyways where the masked man usually perpetrated his deeds, returned to the office to compare notes. The son insisted there were now only three possible suspects. The father, more cautious, thought there were four. Let's question them, Lieutenant Gluck said with irritation, and put a stop to this once and for all! Not so fast, son, his father said, holding him back, let's not be hasty. If we start questioning suspects, the culprit will probably take off the next day. We have to wait a little longer, we can't make any mistakes. We need him to make another move. And when we're absolutely sure,
we won't question anyone, we'll simply get a warrant from the superintendent and arrest him. You're not as quick as you used to be, Dad! Lieutenant Gluck protested. Sub-lieutenant, I order you to be calm, replied Lieutenant Gluck.
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Rumours. Rumours passing from mouth to mouth, from window to window, from name to name, rumours resounding like a changing melody, propagating like weeds. In a small city words are expansive, viscous, they belong to no one and to everyone. The good people of Wandernburg wanted to know who, where, what, when and how. And in order to find out who was who, they all gave the appearance of being what they were not.
The rumours had gradually ballooned, spreading from street to street, from door to door. Everyone was talking about the same thing and they all fell silent as one.
Sophie was gazing out of the window. She had been lying quietly, curled up on her orange silk eiderdown for some time. Her eyes were glassy, her eyelids puffy, the tip of her nose red as if she had caught the sun. At the foot of the bed lay a scrapbook, a discarded mirror, and a bundle of folios with a quill pen on top. She wasn't sure what she ought to do, although she knew what she wanted to do. She didn't want an eternity, just a little more time. She breathed in slowly, rubbed her nose. She tidied the papers, folded them and slipped them into an envelope then rang for Elsa.
When Elsa came into the bedroom, she held out the sealed envelope. Could you post this for me, my dear? she said. I'll do it first thing tomorrow, Miss, said Elsa, when I go out to do the shopping. No, no, said Sophie, go now. But I've got to lay the table for lunch, Elsa protested. It doesn't matter, said Sophie, standing up, I'll see to the table while you go to the postbox. Elsa sighed: You know your father doesn't like you doing the. That's an order, now go, Sophie interrupted her sharply. And
on seeing Elsa pull a face because she was not accustomed to being spoken to in that tone, she added: Please. Elsa shrugged, took the envelope and left the room, puzzled by all this hurry to post another letter to master Rudi. When the bedroom door closed once more, Sophie went over to her dressing table. She applied a brisk layer of make-up to hide her puffy eyes. She added some rouge. She gave her hair a half-hearted comb, then hurried downstairs to her father's study.
⦠convinced that, after much deliberation, such an important event should coincide with Christmas as well as with another joyous celebration, for it was during that festive season (do you recall, my love?) that you proposed to me. Bear in mind, too, that there are still a few minor organisational details which need resolving, and which, with a little extra time, I will be able to oversee myself. I know you understand my reasons, and I thank you with all my heart. It is going to be wonderful!
Your letter arrived on Thursday, and as always it was a delight. I really do think you should read poetry from time to time, because, despite your objections, I insist you have something of the poet in you, and then we could enjoy sharing some of the books I would like you to read. Will you do that, my love? Have a good rest in that beautiful spa (where, of course, we will be going together next summer), take care of your charming parents, and please send them my fondest regards. Don't play too much at cards, I know you, and beware of Fräulein Hensel, the shy ones are the worst! From what you have told me, I don't think I like her very much. But of course you may invite her to spend a few days at Magdeburg, silly, you know you needn't ask my permission about that kind of thing. And it isn't that I am not jealous, as you said in your letterâI detest telling people what to do with their free time as much as I detest them telling me what to do with mine.
A kiss from your “elusive little diurnal moon” (what a wonderful metaphor, my darling Rudi!) and thank you so much for the gemstone necklace, I don't know how to show my gratitude for such a gift. I miss
you dreadfully, too. Until the next letter, your
S
What! Herr Gottlieb roared, you did what? Without consulting me? Is this some sort of bad joke? Or have you gone mad? There's nothing mad about it, Father, whispered Sophie, it's only a slight change, that's all, just a few weeks, and besides, December is a much nicer time of year than October. But we were all set to begin the final preparations! her father growled, flinging his pipe across the desk (it struck the brandy bottle and clanged like a bell). I know, Father, I know, she insisted, that's why I thought now was the moment to tell Rudi about it, before we started organising everything. And have you considered what the Wilderhauses will think of us, you foolish girl? said Herr Gottlieb, twirling his whiskers. Or what Rudi will think? Don't worry, Father, Rudi will agree, I promise you, I already suggested a slight postponement in my last letter. You did whatâHerr Gottlieb became incensedâand what did he say? Tell me his exact words or I shall read the letter myself! He said he wasn't keen on the idea, said Sophie, but that if I was sure and if there was no other way ⦠Heaven help me! said Herr Gottlieb in despair. One of these days you will be the death of me! Don't say that, Father, she stammered. Well I am saying it! her father shouted, oh, and as for the fair tonight, don't you dare mention it to me, do you hear, you're not going and that's final! Do you understand? Whatever you say, Father, Sophie nodded. Now leave! he said at last. Leave me alone, go!
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Wandernburg's summer fair was like any other provincial celebrationâits pretensions to grandeur gave it a pathetic, touchingly ridiculous air. The little paper lanterns hanging in the small park opposite the Hill of Sighs brightened the already moonlit night. There was a youth orchestra, plaster pilasters
encircling a dance floor, brightly coloured garlands and trestle tables with drinks. Hans asked for a fruit cocktail, and scanned the crowd once more, surprised not to see Sophieâthis was a perfect opportunity for them to go off into the park together, as they had agreed. While he was talking to Hans, Ãlvaro was watching Elsa's movements out of the corner of his eye. She had a very solemn face and had remained talking to Bertold without giving him the pleasure of a dance. All of a sudden, behind Elsa, Ãlvaro spied Lamberg's hunched figure roaming the dance floor. Look, he said to Hans, pointing at Lamberg, he's been circling round like that with his glass for about an hour now, and he still hasn't danced with anyone! Poor Lamberg, said Hans, let's go over and say hello, maybe that will cheer him up a bit.
Lamberg seemed pleased to see them, yet he hardly said a word, and shook his head in irritation when they suggested he approach a girl with golden ringlets who was staring insistently at him, stroking the folds in her dress. They soon lost sight of him, and Ãlvaro went over to Elsa. Hans decided to join in their conversation to see if he could discover something about Sophie. But before Hans had a chance to ask, Elsa, who had been expressly requested to notify Hans of her absence, observed absent-mindedly how pretty the festival was, and what a shame Fräulein Sophie was indisposed.
Perfumed without her father's permission, and with her hair scraped up to reveal her neck, Lisa Zeit crossed the dance floor beaming, her eyes fixed on Hans's back. What she found most attractive about him were his flowing locks, inappropriate for a man of his age, and his deep, rather solemn voice when he was teaching her grammar. He wasn't overly tall, but more importantly, he had good posture. She also liked the fact that some mornings he didn't shave. Lisa had managed to persuade her father to let her go to the fair with her friends, provided she
was home no later than eleven o'clock. She had flown into a tantrum, insisting the evening would only just be starting then, and had locked herself in her room sobbing until, at last, after tea, she had got ready to go out as though nothing had happened. Before she left, Herr Zeit had repeated his instructions and, when he went to kiss her forehead, had given her permission to stay out until eleven-thirty, but not a minute later.
Hans felt a hand touch his shoulder and wheeled round in anticipation. Although in a flash he replaced his grimace of disappointment with an amiable smile, Lisa noticed the gesture, and anyway she felt her new dress and high-heeled shoes deserved a little more than mere amiability. Hans looked at the dressâhe acknowledged that it flattered her budding figure, but it was too formal for his taste, and touchingly vulgar. The clear purpose of Lisa's dress, hairstyle and perfume was, he reflected, to make her look older at any cost. Yet this very eagerness, which emphasised the grace of her arms and the curve of her waist, only served to show Lisa's true age, and her need to dress up like a woman because she was still a girl. Good evening, Fräulein, Hans smiled. Lisa thought: That's better, he's smiling. Good evening, Herr Hans, she replied, I thought we might bump into each other here, knowing what late hours you keep. Hans replied, a little uneasily: It's quite a surprise to see you here, knowing what an early bird you are. Ah, sighed Lisa, habits change, people change, time passes so quickly, don't you think? Yes, said Hans, you can't imagine how quickly. Well, she declared, glancing about significantly, I came here hoping to meet my girlfriends, but I don't see them anywhere, what a shame, I was sure they'd come, their parents must have kept them in, they're nearly a year younger than I am, you know. Tell me, Hans said, attempting to sidetrack her, how is your homework going? Are you still struggling with the subjunctive? We're not in class now are we, Hans? Lisa retorted. I'm sorry, he
said, I didn't mean it like that, I just wondered how you were. Then why not ask me, silly, she laughed, just say “How are you, Lisa?” and I'll tell you, and we can have a normal conversation.